


Sins of the Father

by lucdarling



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s01e12 Anatomy of a Murder, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Sex Tapes, Threats, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 16:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11085303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: FP sits in the interrogation room in Riverdale, blissfully unaware of what's happening outside the walls of the police station. Cliff Blossom drops by to deliver a message and a warning.





	Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [a prompt](http://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=103500#cmt103500) on the Riverdale Kinkmeme.
> 
> Heed the tags. All mistakes, grammar and otherwise, are my own.

"Never expected to see you in a room like this," FP says, blowing out the breath that had been trapped in his lungs when he watched the door handle swing downward. It wasn't the Sheriff on the other side and yet, FP isn't too surprised at who walks in. He knew this confrontation was going to come.

Cliff Blossom smiles at the greeting, all thin lips and wig perfectly coiffed. "We have some things to discuss. I'd like to bring some light to your world, so to speak."

FP fights not to roll his eyes at the high-handed speech and doesn't succeed. To be fair, he didn't try particularly hard.

"I'm not sure what sort of other light you think would be needed under these flourescents," FP snorts. Cliff never can come right out and say what he really wants. It's all hidden beneath social niceties and a highly polished veneer that FP wants to kick in the teeth.

"Oh, I think this will be most illuminating." Cliff leans against the table, right next to FP. His arm settles over flannel shoulders and it's a heavy weight. It's a reminder of the secret they share, the death of Cliff's son between them.

"You see," Cliff said as he pulls out his phone and holds it so both he and FP can see the screen. "If you don't keep your mouth shut about who pulled the trigger, I'm going to have to make another visit. I'm sure none of us would enjoy that reoccurrence of events."

FP's gut tells him something is very wrong with those words. "Who'd you visit, Cliff?" He manages to say like he's unaffected. Inside, he's screaming that it better not be his kid, his son, the only good thing he has left in this entire damned town.

"I offered nothing more than a friendly ride and a listening ear," Cliff's hand tightens on his shoulder, pressing FP down into the chair as his other hand manipulates the phone to bring up a video.

The frame is frozen with the sideways triangle over the middle of it, ready to be pressed and the video watched. The circle isn't big enough to hide the curl of dark hair and glimpse of knit beanie that FP has seen off his son's head a handful of times. The blood in his veins turns to ice.

FP makes a strangled sound as Cliff's thumb hovers over the play button. He tries to twist in his seat, takes a deep breath to let loose his rage and Cliff begins the video before he can get a word out.

There's no sound except that of FP's breath leaving his body in a pained exhalation in the room.

The video doesn't need to have sound for FP to be able to read the expression of fear on his boy's face, the widening green eyes and mouth opening in a shout. It's clear his son is saying _no_ and then his face is scrunching up in pain and FP leans over to vomit in the trash can next to the table. Cliff's arm drags him back upright sooner than he'd like.

He never wanted his son involved in this part of his life. FP took pains to conduct his Serpent business outside of the short windows of time that Jughead dropped by or passed him by in the streets of Riverdale or the drive-in. Now it's come home to roost, ten minutes of silent video of Cliff Blossom's phone that tell FP he's fucked up beyond repair, that all his careful planning just wasn't enough to save his beautiful, wonderful son from suffering.

"Why?" FP's voice is thick with tears. The video is still playing in front of both men, now a point-of-view shot of Cliff's thick cock moving back and forth. A small part of FP is grateful for the sight of a condom. "He didn't have any idea about what happened this summer. He wasn't a part of it at all, you didn't need to do this." The last sentence is more a growl, FP taking comfort in his anger because it's better than focusing on the helplessness that threatens to overwhelm him.

Cliff scoffs. "Your son is wandering around like an amateur Hardy Boy, right next to the uptight goody-two shoes Cooper bitch. Your son might not have been privy to what happened in the basement in July but that doesn't really matter when the entire town knows you've been arrested. I just wanted to make sure you understood what was at stake when the good Sheriff comes in to take your confession."

FP nods as the words register in his head. Everything Cliff has said since the video started to play has been through a filter like FP is moving through maple syrup. He can't find the energy to smirk at the ironic thought. He's going to cop to the murder of the beloved golden boy of Riverdale and his son is still on the tiny phone screen, crying and paying for the mistakes of his father. 

"Did you just leave him there?" FP's voice sounds just as hollow as he feels and he knows there's at least one tear running unchecked down his face. His boy, so helpless and violated in the worst way, all for something FP bore the responsibility for. Jughead certainly hadn't had any idea what FP was involved in this past summer until the police lights cast his trailer in blue and red. News travels fast in Riverdale so he doesn't kid himself that Jughead is still unaware of FP's arrest hours earlier.

Cliff laughs warmly, like he hadn't just shattered FP's world with a ten minute video. "Of course not, I was a gentleman! After your son had cleaned up, I drove him to the bus station. He said he was going to buy a bus ticket. How quaint."

FP doesn't look over at the man, just sinks his head down onto his folded arms as Cliff puts the phone back in his pocket.

"I think that would be best for all involved, Jughead getting a fresh start somewhere away from all of this ugliness." Cliff says blithely. FP tenses, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's proven right when Cliff continues, "Of course, I needn't remind you that I would have no problem locating your son if your mouth were to say the wrong name. Or any name at all regarding the murderer of my late son. After all, we all know you were found with the gun."

Cliff Blossom leaves the room with light steps on the tiled floor as FP sits in the cold, empty room and slams his handcuffed fists against the table in impotent, helpless rage. He shouts and it echoes around the cinderblocks.

It's enough noise to draw the attention of Sheriff Keller, who takes it as a sign FP is ready to talk. Oh, he's more than ready. FP will say whatever he has to to protect Jughead from being involved in any more of Cliff Blossom's sick schemes. 

He drags himself out of his thoughts, a dark maelstrom where the words _my boy_ and _helpless_ reverberate like klaxons. A certain four-lettered word slams against the inside of his skull but FP can't vocalize it yet. The Sheriff is sitting across from him, his body language belying his eagerness for a confession like a hunting dog who's spotted a downed fowl.

"Did you do it for kicks?" Sheriff Keller's voice is disgusted.

FP blinks and licks his lips, buying a half second to think through what he's about to do. It's not a question of if the Sheriff will buy his story - he will, everyone knows FP is a Southside Serpent and is a criminal - but FP knows that he'll be going away for a long time after this. He hopes his boy will be okay on the outside but FP figures he's survived this long with little thanks to FP, and that girl of his will probably keep him level as will Fred Andrews' influence. FP blinks again, feeling the stare of the Sheriff on his face like a laser.

"Last summer," he starts as the Sheriff turns on the tape recorder between them. FP runs his hand over his face. "this red-haired kid comes up..."

 

The story is told, measured pauses broken by the metal chains rattling on his wrists when FP forgets and tries to cross his arms over his chest. 

When it's all said and written down and FP has signed his confession in black ink, other officers haul him none too gently out of the uncomfortable chair and down the hallway to the holding cell. The lights overhead flicker and buzz gratingly in his ear.

They're passing through the front of the station - it's small enough that the entire police station can be walked in just a few minutes but there's no behind the scenes path to the cells from the interrogation room - when FP's gait slows.

He sees Archie and the Lodge girl standing next to each other, waiting expectantly in front of the Sheriff like their words are gonna change his mind. Betty's blonde hair is pulled back, paler in the harsh lighting. And his boy is right next to her, together with the others but also keeping himself apart, one step away where the other three are bunched up. Jughead's face is stricken with disbelief and shock and other emotions FP doesn't have time to identify. It's not like he's been real good at reading his kid anyway, not when Jughead keeps himself all closed off. FP's to blame for that too, he knows.

 _His boy._

Jughead's got tears in his eyes and FP swallows as their eyes meet. He wishes his son wasn't standing there, watching him as the officers march him past the assembled kids and the Sheriff, down to the few holding cells that the Riverdale Police Station boasts.

This isn't the time or place for FP to offer comfort, or rage against what was done last night by Cliff Blossom. There may not be a time, not when FP is awaiting trial and his boy is so far away from him. Shame floods his body, cold and sick shooting through every nerve ending. He lets his eyes slide away from the familiar green, looking down the hallway of the station. 

He doesn't want to look upon his son again, not while he's in jail. Not when all he can see is his son's face, wet with tears and contorted in pain just to send a message to FP. It's an image that's going to haunt him for some time to come and it's less than FP deserves as his father.


End file.
